“I thought I would read a bit down by the beach,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on the bathing machines so I know when to meet you to redress your hair.”
“Molly could do it.” Dorcas referred to one of the Townsends’ maids.
Portia wrinkled her nose. “Molly is not as talented with the tongs as Allegra.”
“But she could do it,” Dorcas said. “If Allegra wanted a moment on the beach with a certain someone. After Father’s long night at cards, he is likely to sleep until noon.”
Which meant he would not be hovering over Allegra’s shoulder to ensure she was earning her keep for at least three blissful hours.
“You’re right,” Portia said, then beamed at Allegra. “Please enjoy the beach.”
“Thank you,” Allegra said. “I expect I shall.”
She followed her cousins out of the dressing room and toward the apartment door. There, on a table next to the door, stood a vase of colored geraniums.
Upon sight of the women, the footman sprang to retrieve the vase and presented the geraniums to Portia. “For you, Miss Townsend, from a Mr. Mayhew.”
Portia’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. She looked from the flowers to Allegra and Dorcas, then back to the flowers in happy disbelief. “The legend worked again. I have a suitor!”
Allegra and Dorcas hugged her.
“Congratulations, darling,” Allegra said with affection and pride. “I had no doubt you ladies would be a success.”
“Ladies, plural?” Dorcas’s eyebrows shot up. “I only see one vase of flowers.”
“And there is plenty of time for that to change,” Allegra reminded her. “Especially since—”
“—we rented rooms in Siren’s Retreat!” Portia finished with a joyful wiggle. “The legend will work on all of us!”
“I was going to say, ‘Especially since beautiful, clever Dorcas would be a catch for any man,’” Allegra said with a laugh, “but if you want to blame a legend instead of acknowledging your sister’s charms…”
“It can be both at the same time.” Portia handed the vase back to the footman. “Please put the geraniums on the side table in my bedchamber, if you would. And send Molly down with our change of clothing for the beach. We are ready for our morning dips.”
“I shall see to it at once.” The footman left with the vase.
The three women exited the apartment and headed down the stairs to the inn’s pretty ante-room, decorated with small round tables bearing copies of the morning papers. It was not a full-service reading room—there were several circulating libraries in Brighton that performed that function—but Allegra found what she was looking for at once.
“Not the obituaries,” Portia groaned. “That is such a ghoulish habit.”
“You’ll have your fun being dunked into the sea. I shall amuse myself however I please.”
“What must it say about you that you find obituaries amusing?” Dorcas mused.
“Oh, I don’t find them to be gratifying,” Allegra assured her. “I am merely pleased not to be listed among them.”
“Ghoulish,” Portia repeated with a shudder.
Molly clattered down the stairs with a large basket on each arm. In no time, Portia and Dorcas were whisked off on their way to the bathing machines.
Allegra held up a folded broadsheet toward the proprietress. “May I take this page with me if I promise to return it?”
“Please do,” Mrs. Cartwright replied. “The newspapers are here for guests’ convenience. Did I hear your cousin say you only read the obituaries?”
“They are the antidote to too many years spent reading fairy tales. All of those stark ‘He leaves behind his distraught wife and six children’ columns assure me marriage is not a path I have any interest in going down.”
Allegra regretted her candor the moment the words were out of her mouth. Mrs. Cartwright didn’t need to read about other people’s sorrow in order to understand the devastating grief of losing a loved one. She had lived the agony firsthand.
“I don’t regret finding love,” the proprietress said with a smile. “It is why I created Siren’s Retreat—so that others could experience the magic I found with my husband.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Allegra said quickly.
“No offense was taken,” Mrs. Cartwright assured her. “You are right to suspect I was an utter wreck after losing him. But that doesn’t mean love isn’t worth the risk. I would much prefer living too few moments with my beloved husband than drift a lifetime without.”
“So now you run a gorgeous home known for helping others to find love. Might you find a second chance, too?”
Mrs. Cartwright shook her head. “Lightning does not strike twice. I’ve already had my one true love. I find my pleasure watching others find their perfect matches. Is there someone you have your eye on?”
Allegra’s eye…yes.
Her heart? Never.
“Not at this time.” She edged toward the door. “Thank you for the newspaper!”
Although she would rather have spent the morning seated at a pianoforte, her obituary ritual served two practical purposes. In addition to assuring Allegra that no sane person would wish to be listed in its pages as a “dearly departed” or a “left behind”, a broadsheet in one’s hands also served as a conversation deterrent and a subtle vantage point from which to perform Allegra’s second-favorite activity after piano-playing: watching other people.
In the absence of a large group of friends of her own—indeed, Dorcas and Portia constituted the entirety of Allegra’s list of friends—she liked to settle on a stone or a bench and imagine what life must be like for all the other people rushing by.
Did they even notice the sweeping views around them? The sting of the breeze, the tang of salt in the air, the boats passing on the horizon? Or were they in such a hurry to tick off the next item on their list: tailor, haberdasher, tea, gin, promenade, horseback, swimming in the sea, taking the waters…that they failed to recognize the wonder of the world around them?
From behind her obituaries, Allegra made up outlandish stories about each person that passed. This one, on the run from the law. That one, the sole survivor of a duel. A boxing master, a pickpocket, a philosopher. It was not quite as fun as making up songs at the pianoforte. Her fingers twitched in her skirts at times, eager to set the sights before her into music.
Allegra couldn’t paint the view. She had never learned watercolors and would not have been permitted the expense. Uncle’s pinched face when she had asked if they might acquire a pianoforte…
Once Dorcas and Portia were older, Uncle purchased a family pianoforte for his daughters. At that point, it cost nothing to allow the poor relation to plink away. Allegra’s mother had been an accomplished pianist, and had taught her daughter for years. The memories were still in there, buried like seeds at springtime, just waiting for a drop of rain and a dash of sunlight to shoot forth anew.
In that moment, a new responsibility had been added to her list of duties: music instructor.
But it was no chore. Allegra loved those moments. Cherished them. Wanted to give her cousins the same warmth and love and freedom of expression that Allegra’s own mother had imparted to her.